Snow is not cotton. Snow is not friendly. Snow is the bane of my existence when I am on the east coast.
At this moment, looking out the window at the white stuff falling from the sky, I understand the meaning of cabin fever, and I understand why someone would kill those they are in a house with. It's maddening. It's too cold and wet and cold and really maybe a little dangerous to go outside right now. The snow is deep, and getting deeper with each passing second. The snowflakes whisper, "come play with us, for ever and ever and ever" just like a pair of creepy little girls in a creepy book about a haunted hotel and a sick father.
I might listen to them. The cold might be getting to me. I know why people murder people when it's snowing. It's too cold to go outside. It's too boring to stay inside all the time. Murder would give me something to do, then maybe the snow could be my graveyard.
Then again, I might just be trying to distract my self from the reality of death by thinking about the reality of the cold, homicidal snow.